


Deliberately Uncreative

by Tierfal



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Humor, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thousands of things have changed in Jeff's life because of what the Doctor has done -- but some things haven't yet.  (Spoilers for 5.1.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliberately Uncreative

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme prompts like _Eleven/Jeff ("the attractive one")_ are irresistible. :D

Jeff is just lonely. That's not his fault.

Really.

It's not that he isn't _grateful_ to the Doctor, because now he's sort of rich and famous and whatnot, which is great. And he even has more access to people because of it, more acquaintances and more opportunities; more of everything, and it's genuinely nice.

It's just that he's still Jeff. And he still feels like Jeff. And Jeff and Jeffrey are two different people, and only one of them can put on a business suit and talk to powerful people with the Doctor's blessing still in his ears. Jeffrey's pretty brilliant, and Jeff is not; Jeffrey is kind of suave, and Jeff is not; Jeffrey is content, and Jeff is lonely, and that's not his _fault_.

It's Friday night, and he's sitting on the sofa in the front room of his flat, his tie undone, his feet up on the coffee table, his computer on his lap. There's a strange buzzing noise out in the hall, and then his door pops open, and then Jeff's stomach drops so hard he expects to find it three floors down, because the Doctor pokes his head into the room.

"Jeff!" he says brightly. "How's it been? Actually, how long's it been? Because I lose track, you know, all the running about and evading things, and that is a _gorgeous_ computer; can I see?"

Jeff likes to think that even Jeffrey would be speechless if the Doctor burst into his flat and immediately threw himself down on the other couch cushion, nattily dressed now and chattering away.

"The TARDIS always gives me the cold shoulder if I have too many foreign electronic signatures, but—_Jeff, what did I say about the girlfriend_?"

Jeff goes very red very fast.

"Oh," the Doctor says, squinting. "_Oh_. That's not the sort of thing for blokes who get girlfriends, is it? I'm sorry, Jeff, I've given you bad advice… a while ago?"

"Year and a half," Jeff's voice says.

"Right, right." The Doctor considers the laptop screen for another moment, and his eyebrows dart up as the slim blond on the screen moans loudly.

Jeff closes the laptop and clears his throat.

"I like the bow-tie," he says, tentatively.

The Doctor grins and fiddles with it. "Stole it. And I liked it so much that I stole a few more." Then his face contorts into a disappointed frown. "But _Jeff_, everything else came together. Look at you, look at this place—but it's still you and the computer instead of you and some_one_." Before Jeff can mount a defense, the Doctor purses his lips decisively. "Sometimes you humans amaze me, how deliberately uncreative you are. So I'll tell you what, Jeff."

"What?" Jeff asks, his voice a little high.

The Doctor snatches the laptop away, sets it on the table, drops to his knees in front of Jeff, and rubs his hands together.

"Haven't done this in a while," he remarks. "But it's probably like a bicycle. Then again, I fell off my last bicycle. I shouldn't have told you that. Hold onto your hat, Jeff."

"What h—"

The Doctor wiggles his long fingers and then employs them delicately undoing the fly of Jeff's trousers.

"What are you _doing_?" Jeff yelps, freezing helplessly.

The Doctor's forehead furrows as he starts to tug at the fabric, impeded by Jeff's immobility. "I would have thought that would be obvious by now."

"You're insane!" Jeff cries, and the fact that he honestly believes it does not change the unequivocal approval pushing at the Doctor's hands.

The Doctor spares one of those hands to point at him, the other giving another firm pull and exposing Jeff in front of his idol.

"I'm quite stable," the Doctor says firmly. "Mostly. In all the ways that matter. I didn't come here to argue with you, Jeff; I came here to _help_ you, and that's what I'm about to do, so if you'll excuse me—" The Doctor ducks and takes Jeff fully into his mouth, and Jeff can't help gasping, and his spine goes rigid, and the Doctor mumbles something very garbled that might be "Duty calls."

The next few minutes are some of the most stunning of Jeff's life, which is not so much a negative reflection on his life as an overwhelmingly positive reflection on the Doctor. The Doctor has an amazing mouth, and really nice hands, and Jeff's fingers are clenched in the back of the couch, and his hips are jerking, and the Doctor just traces upward with the tip of his tongue. The Doctor's thumbs rub at his hipbones, and the Doctor's fringe is brushing at his stomach, and his breathing is broken and short and so gratified he couldn't express it if he tried.

And then the Doctor tilts his head and twists his mouth and sucks a little harder, and the pressure and the heat and over a year of half-crushed fantasies converge, and Jeff writhes and curls his fingers in the Doctor's hair, and his ears ring, and the searing heat in his belly spreads to his mind and sparks before his eyes.

The Doctor doesn't even flinch—just swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and then draws back and licks at his upper lip.

"See, Jeff?" he says. "It's that easy, making connections with people. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."

Jeff slumps bonelessly against the back of the sofa, rummaging in his skull for some brain cells.

"You're not from around here," he says, "are you?"


End file.
